


Gamers' Abyss

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse (not explicit), Chronic Illness, Gaming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Potentially Terminal Illness, Virtual Reality, Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come one, come all and try out the newest in virtual reality gaming! Face monsters that will chill you to the bone! Design your soldier and level up to become the best of the best! Learn magic called 'artes' to strengthen yourself and your allies and destroy your opponents! Find it all here, in Abyss!</p><p>Warning: Player is not in any physical danger but due to level of immersion may experience brief physical discomfort. People with heart conditions, pregnant women, and with certain disabilities or other illnesses should not play. Game is rated M for Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Round 1

“A new video game, huh? Like we need more…”

“Give it a try, Asch. You never know if you’ll like something or not if you don’t - “

“Shut up, Luke.”

Virtual reality, the new ‘wave of the future’. Asch glared at the sign like it had personally offended him. Beside him his brother had his face pressed up against the window, practically leaving lip impressions on the glass. He would never hear the end of it if he didn’t let Luke try it out at least for a little while. Groaning he followed Luke inside and was immediately accosted by the chaotic mess that was the arcade.

Boy and girls of all ages were busying themselves in immersive, 3-D environments. Here, they fought a dragon; there, they shot aliens over and over. All in all, it was noisy, repetitive, and made Asch’s skin crawl. Besides, who knew how many snot nosed brats had wiped their germs all over every single controller.

The man behind the main counter looked like a creeper. Red eyes that had to be contact lenses, a smile to make anyone shiver, and a manner that was far too calm for anyone faced with this kind of job… the man was practically screaming he was some kind of criminal. Naturally Luke walked right up to him.

“Hey Jade, got a spot open for me and Asch? We wanted to try that new game.”

Jade smiled, and Asch had to fight down the urge to grab the back of Luke’s collar and hightail it out of there.

“Abyss, right?” Jade confirmed, and he reached behind the counter for two sets of black armor that looked retrofitted from a laser tag arena, and a pair of gloves for each of them. He smirked at Asch who glared right back.

“I heard it was so immersive that when you get hit - “

“A few people have left with bruises, but I assure you it’s perfectly safe.” Jade’s smile hadn’t changed a bit as he held out the gear for Luke to take. “Besides, you can choose how interactive you want the experience to be. If your brother, for instance, simply wants to sit back and sulk, he certainly can.”

“What was that?” Asch growled, but Luke was already dragging him away, equipment hanging from his arms. Jade wiggled his fingers in farewell and returned his attention to the scrabbling children at the counter.

“Just a little while! Please?” Luke begged as he dropped the stuff off next to the two enormous machines. It reminded Asch of a movie Luke had forced him to watch recently… Track… Troll… he couldn’t remember. Still he cautiously sat himself down in the chair and grabbed the gloves. All of it felt heavy, cumbersome, and he had no idea how anyone could actually use it to do anything. It’d exhaust someone in a single minute.

“Ten minutes,” Asch growled and Luke cheered. Before he knew it, he was sitting down in an admittedly comfortable chair and leaning back. A helmet descended over his eyes and he was engulfed in darkness. Menus booted up the system and Asch flexed his hands inside the gloves. The noise outside was almost muted, and Asch was tempted to just close his eyes and take a nap.

A beep made him look up and he noticed there was a flashing icon with a single question blinking above it:

_Choose your Immersion Level._

He flipped to the ‘one’ with a single twitch of his finger and tapped the key inside his glove. At least the system was relatively easy to learn. A pleasant female voice announced, “You have chosen Immersion Level One - Spectator Mode. Do you wish to continue?”

He clicked the key again and his vision went from pitch darkness to blinding light. It took a good few seconds for his eyes to stop watering before he realized he was flying high above some kind of enormous stadium. The stands were filled with fantasy creatures of all kinds, along with others he assumed were players too. The arena itself was made of stacked stone and sand mixed with dirt, a level playing field for all. Racks of weapons hung from the walls with every possibility imaginable, and he couldn’t help but be impressed at the level of detail. This certainly didn’t feel like a game.

He smelled the sweat and felt the heat on the back of his neck from the unbearable sun. He practically tasted the sand on his tongue though he knew for sure he was not in a desert. A glance around told him everyone else was just as enthralled as he was, more so likely. He blinked and looked down at himself, curious to see how he looked in comparison to so many others.

No wonder he was overheating! Black tabbard, black pants, all with gold and red trimming, and long red hair that matched his ponytailed mane in the real world. It was impressive to say the least; he wished there was some kind of mirror so he could see it better.

Cheering erupted around him and he lifted his head in time to see a very familiar face entering the arena. A long sword, simple in its design and looking all the more deadly for it, was gripped tightly in a gloved hand. Luke’s short red hair whipped around him in the unnatural wind and his clothing - who would wear a shirt that exposed their belly? Asch rolled his eyes; no doubt Luke thought he looked awesome.

“Challenger approaches!” came a booming voice with no visible origin and Asch glanced around despite himself, searching for the source. “Luke the Magnificent will now face all opponents!”

_Oh my God… please tell me he didn’t choose that name…_

Luke beamed and waved at them all, the sun shining brightly down on him like a spotlight. He looked so much more confident down there than Asch recalled. Maybe the real world was harsher on his brother than he thought. Despite himself, Asch leaned forward, interested in seeing who Luke would be fighting.

It turned out to be a what instead. Clearly it was some kind of NPC - a cross between a monster and a person that spoke in jilted, short sentences and wielded a nasty, jagged ax. Luke and the monster duked it out, and before long Asch was shouting along with the others, encouraging Luke to win. He had no idea if Luke could actually hear it or not - he probably only heard the soundtrack of the game.

The monster shrieked and crumbled to dust that quickly scattered across the field. Luke raised his sword in victory, and flashing fireworks shook the whole arena. The announcer’s voice was drowned out by the cheering and the shouts.

Creature after creature fell beneath Luke’s sword in an impressive display of acrobatics and swordsmanship that only a video game could provide. Asch realized he didn’t feel the boredom he thought he would; instead, his heart was pounding, his adrenaline rushing, and he almost wanted to participate.

Asch raised his fist in the air again as Luke smashed through yet another opponent, a minotaur with a lance, and his vision wavered. He blinked, trying to clear it, but lines slashed over his eyes and obliterated the game’s environment. Asch flinched back as static filled his ears and the screen practically exploded - 

and it was all dark.

He breathed heavily, wondering if their game time was over. His fingers pressed the buttons in his gloves, trying to get the display back, but nothing worked or responded.

“Great, a broken game that you can literally get stuck in,” he muttered and thudded his head against the back of the chair.

He heard the whirring of the machine as it suddenly restarted, and he stared into the darkness, waiting for the game to give him an error screen. Instead, a single sentence was displayed with a flashing question mark at the end.

_Do you want to play?_

Asch frowned at it - if this was how to get into the multiplayer mode, it was entirely stupid - and flicked the button in his right glove to shut down the game like he tried before. The question kept flickering like it was taunting him and he finally smashed the ‘Enter’ button. Once he got to the main menu, he was getting the hell out of this game.

Just like before the screen went dark and he was treated to the same arena, but with one major difference.

He now stood beside his brother on the playing field.

_Damnit!_

“Asch! You wanted to get in on the action too, huh?” Luke called, and though his voice was clearly through a microphone, it sounded like he was talking directly at Asch’s side. 

Asch snapped, “I was trying to get  _out_ of this stupid game!”

_“Stupid game?”_

Text flashed across Asch’s screen and he accidentally flinched back. His character followed the motion and Asch clenched his jaw.

“Asch? You okay? You’re swaying a little.”

He could feel Luke’s hand on his shoulder, but he was certain he was still in a chair, in the arcade, surrounded by screaming kids and weird electronics. Was this what Luke meant by full immersion?

“Challenger app-appro-ch-zzz-”

The sound fizzled out and Asch clenched his hand only to find an enormous blade in it. The hilt was solid and sturdy in his fingers but it weighed next to nothing. Still, why did he have his hand on his sword in the first place? He adjusted his grip and looked over at his brother.

“Luke? Is the game supposed to be like this?” he demanded.

Luke stared up at the sky, his eyes wide and mouth open. Asch followed his gaze and blinked, shocked to see the night sky with hundreds of stars overhead. Where had the sun gone?

Other players’ voices started filtering in through his speakers, growing more concerned.

“What’s going on?”

“Buggy as hell, man.”

“I was up next! Did the game crash?”

“Do something!”

Asch stepped forward, back straight and eyes moving back to the playing field, a new set of text flickering across his screen sporadically.

“Luke, are you seeing text in front of you?”

“No, why?”

“It keeps flickering on and off, like there’s a glitch.”

“Well the system is kind of new, but I thought - “

_Do you want to play a game?_

This time, it was a voice asking it - young and old, growling and singing, comforting and terrifying. Asch felt his stomach do a flipflop and he tightened his hand around the hilt. This had to be part of the game; it was all that made logical sense.

“Asch! Look!”

“Challengers Approach!”

Asch stared forward. Opposite Luke and himself was a short kid, probably no older than ten or twelve. He carried no weapon, no armor, only the white coat billowing out around him and the golden mask covering his face. Dark green hair was spiked into sharp blades that jutted out from his head and curved menacingly over the beak-like mask hiding his eyes. All that was visible were the lips curled into a smirk.

“Luke the Magnificent and Asch the Bloody will now take on all opponents!”

“How the hell do you quit?” Asch demanded, pressing the button repeatedly to no avail.

“We’ve started the arena - there’s no quitting until you best ten NPC levels or five physical challengers.” Luke’s voice didn’t make Asch feel any better; he heard the excitement and conviction there. Even if they could quit, Luke wasn’t about to, and Asch was apparently his teammate now.

“Normally that would be true, but not this time. This time, it’s just one battle, one challenger. Surely two of you will be able to defeat one person?”

This voice was new, smooth, young, but deceptively so. There was some kind of electronic change being made to it, a waver and a deepening that weren’t natural but still somehow made it impossible to guess what the person’s voice actually sounded like. For all Asch knew, it was a woman’s. Maybe player avatars didn’t need to show the gender of their player.

“Challenger approaches!” Even the announcer’s voice sounded wrong. Asch continued to hear the chattering of other players and watchers in the crowd who were just as lost as he was when it came to this game.

“The Tempest accepts your challenge!”

“Luke the Magnificent and Asch the Bloody accept your challenge!”

“I didn’t accept anything!” Asch snapped, but his protest fell on deaf ears. 

“Asch, get ready!” Luke insisted.

No - something was wrong. Something was  _definitely_ wrong. His hand was sweating inside the glove, but it felt like his fingers were just loosening on the sword hilt. No game could be changed like this so easily.

“What, are you afraid?” came that not-human voice, and Asch clenched his teeth.

The second Luke moved, Asch was at his side.

They swung their swords at the same time, Luke’s in an upward slash, Asch’s in a downward. Their opponent flipped backwards, landing not far from them, still with that impeccable smirk on his lips. The Tempest tilted his head to the side and stuck his arm out, palm towards the wall. Asch rolled his eyes - showoff.

“Where’s your weapon?” Luke demanded, and The Tempest shrugged.

“I don’t need one.”

His hands lit up like Christmas trees and the light didn’t end there. It moved up his arms until his torso, neck, and head were also engulfed, his body a glowing sight that Asch didn’t think was possible in the game. 

“There’s no magic in Abyss,” Luke protested, his voice sounding outraged. “You’re cheating!”

The crowd immediately began booing, but The Tempest raised his hand again and all fell silent despite their movements telling otherwise.

“It’s not cheating, per se. It was included as part of the game’s code and never activated. Actually in an upcoming patch they’ll be adding it back in. I’m just ahead of the curve.”

“You’re using artes - the artes system was taken out!”

“No, it wasn’t.” The stranger stepped forward and Asch saw Luke step back out of the corner of his eye. “It was simply going to be added later.”

“How’re you using it then?” Asch demanded.

The Tempest smiled. “I’m special.”

Then he launched himself at them.

Asch knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wasn’t actually fighting for his life, he wasn’t bleeding from a strike to his mouth, he wasn’t having a hard time breathing from a cracked rib. But that meant nothing to him here and now, where he felt he was going to die if he didn’t defend himself. The Tempest fought like no NPC or monster ever could; human intelligence beat out programming every single time.

And even if he was cheating, Asch somehow felt in each punch and kick that the avatar itself hadn’t been changed, at least not in the way the people in the crowd thought. This person was fighting just like Asch and Luke using a weapon that traditionally wasn’t accessible, but he wasn’t adding to his stats.

“Asch,” Luke muttered, as if trying to keep himself from being overheard. “We’ve gotta corner him. He’ll just keep doing those flips and stuff otherwise.”

“Approach from behind. I’ll see if I can get him to focus on me,” Asch responded. He’d lost all sense of the outside world; everything was down to fighting here and now. Honestly he had never felt so alive before in his life.

He ran forward and traded blow for blow with The Tempest, whose features at least had turned into something more concerned. The smirk was gone, replaced by a determined, concentrated press of his lips, and Asch pressed on. The Tempest could only defend against the whirlwind of strikes Asch managed, pushing his intangible body to its limits.

Luke let out a loud shout as he slashed his blade right through The Tempest’s middle. Every single one of them froze as the pixels of The Tempest’s body stuttered and cracked, falling like square snow to the ground below him. His mouth made a little ‘O’ of surprise and Asch smacked off the mask hiding the rest of his face.

Beneath it was a pair of deep forest green eyes that glinted in the fake light of the stars. Even with the grievous wound, The Tempest did not appear angry; in fact he threw his head back and laughed loudly. The sound that had been cut off the entire fight returned with a vengeance, players shrieking and panicking throughout the stands.

But Asch could only stare at the glinting eyes that, for all their fake creation, spoke of true emotion.

“That was fun,” gasped The Tempest as he backed away from Asch and Luke. Above their heads a dizzying amount of colored fireworks and graphical errors sparkled and the announcer kept shouting that they’d won like the audio was on a loop.

“Who are you?” Luke demanded, still clearly furious. Whoever this kid was, he was changing the rules of the game like it was easy.

“The Tempest,” he said with a bow made all the more disturbing by the fact that his avatar was coming apart, blood leaking out of him yet not stoping his voice from being heard.

“Wait a minute… Tempest… you’re that hacker!” Luke snapped. The Tempest merely grinned.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, and Asch glared when he realized he was being asked. “Be honest now.”

He wanted to shout that he hated every second of it, that he had been forced into this with no way of getting out and no way to say anything, but all that would come out was a strangled growl. The Tempest nodded to himself as his hands faded away.

“I thought so. Let’s do this again, Luke the Magnificent, Asch the Bloody.”

And with that final smirk at Asch, a challenge writ in the pixels on the boy’s face, The Tempest was gone, and the game screen went black.

It took a good few minutes before Asch was able to pull the gloves off his real body’s hands, yank the mask back, and breathe real air. It was just as noisy as always in the arcade, but this time there were outraged voices among the squeals of kids, and he recognized some of them from Abyss.

“Have fun?” Jade asked and Asch glared at him. The owner leaned against the nearby wall while a girl in pigtails continued to run things from the front counter, just as loud and obnoxious as the kids in the arcade.

“Jade, no one should be able to hack into that!” Luke protested. He was already standing next to Asch’s seat, his fingers clenched. “I thought the servers - “

“Doesn’t seem to matter to whoever managed to get in. I’ll call Namdai in the morning and ask if they can send a technician out. It’s possible something got plugged into somewhere it shouldn’t.” He shrugged and leaned a little more against the wall. “For now, it’s out of order.”

That led to a whole new slew of shouting from the patrons, but Asch ignored all of them. He had never felt his blood boil like that before, or feel like he’d had the workout of his life. Even as he stood he felt aches in places he remembered being struck in, though there was no blood when he ran his hand over his mouth.

“Asch, you alright?” Luke asked, placing one hand on Asch’s shoulder.

He glanced back at the machine where there was a colorfully drawn “Out of Order” sign taped down, and felt a smile come to his face. There was still a lesson to be taught to that hacker, wherever he was, and what better way than through a game he thought he controlled?

“Better than fine,” Asch chuckled. He rose and started for the front of the arcade, Luke following and glancing worriedly in his direction. Something told him he would be back here in the near future.

– – –

In a basement that could have been miles and could have been blocks away sat a young man who sighed and laughed softly as he leaned back in his chair, wiring and equipment and hardware and software surrounding him completely. A wheelchair sat nearby, locked in place for when it would inevitably see use, but for now, there was no need for it.

“Asch the Bloody,” the figure murmured, green eyes locked on the ceiling above him. He tapped his fingers to an unheard beat on the armrest. “Let’s play again sometime.”


	2. Round 2

Asch enjoyed TV and the Internet as much as the next person, but when he saw Luke and Guy with their heads bowed over another piece of tech, cooing over it like it was a puppy, he rolled his eyes and hurried on. Guy was way too influential over Luke. There was no way the younger redhead would have gotten involved with computer building without the blond. They were practically inseparable.

He propped his chin up on his palm and tried to focus on the video lecture he was supposed to be taking notes on. Somehow the dry biology lessons just weren’t keeping his attention. He tapped his pencil against the notepad and listened to the way too excited teacher go on and on about genetic research. The collar that looked like a spiked plant attempting to eat the teacher’s head was far too distracting.

School was important; his grades were going to ‘get him places’. But all he could think about was the game, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins and the heat of the battle. He wanted to show that little hacker brat how good he really was, on any playing field.

“Asch! Want to come to the arcade? Guy says they got another new game!”

He never thought he’d gotten out of his chair, grabbed his keys and jacket, and ran down the stairs in his life, especially not to Luke’s request.

Asch drove the three of them to the arcade while Guy and Luke offered commentary from the back.

“You’re going too fast!”

“Watch that biker!”

“Asch, that light was pretty much red!”

“Shut up!” Asch finally snapped, glaring over his shoulder. “Both of you are too loud and annoying. When you get your own car, you can drive however the hell you want.”

Luke glared at him and Guy merely shrugged and chuckled. Asch parked in the lot and barely pulled into the parking space before Guy and Luke rushed out and towards the arcade. Ever the responsible one, Asch locked up and followed them only after checking the doors.

“Back again, eh? I thought this place wasn’t really your interest,” Jade said as he leaned down on the counter in front of him.

“Just give me the damn equipment,” he ordered and glared at Jade as he took his dear sweet time. As soon as he had the black vest and gloves, he strapped everything on with an ease that belied how little he actually played video games. He strapped the gloves on and squeezed his hands in them, practically feeling the weight of his sword.

“Abyss was fixed up, so you shouldn’t run into any notorious hackers anymore,” Jade said cheerfully. “The artes system is in place now, too.” He looked Asch up and down, raised an eyebrow, and added, “I think you’re more the sword wielding type, though.”

Ignoring the rest of Jade’s comments, Asch walked until he arrived at the Abyss machines. The loss of control a few weeks back hadn’t changed the popularity of the game. If anything, it had increased it. Kids were lined up, nearly vibrating with excitement, as they waited their turn. Asch groaned at the sheer number of them.

What was he, a college student, doing here playing video games? He was supposed to be at home, studying, and getting ready for the inevitable finals that would strike. Asch turned away, hand already attempting to peel off the glove, when a small pat on his back stopped him.

“Are you Asch the Bloody?” the little boy asked in awe.

Asch had never heard silence fall so fast.

Kids swarmed him, all shouting their questions, while the older teens looked on and nodded at him with respect. What the hell had happened? Sure he’d won that weird battle, but that didn’t make him special. It was a freakin’ game!

“Can you do it again!?”

“Will you fight me?”

“I want a go!”

“No, me!”

Asch looked around desperately for help, but Luke and Guy were already immersed in their own little world and would be of no aid. He was practically swept up in their small scrabbling arms and pushed into the seat, where his body automatically took the position. The thing felt like it had been built for him, and he couldn’t help the rush of anticipation as the visor came down and the familiar menu flashed “Select your Immersion Level”.

His fingers scrolled him to the highest number, and when he clicked enter, he entered his own little world, surrounded by screaming fans and daring challengers. Asch smirked, rolling his shoulders and stepping into the arena, and watched his opponents begin to enter the field.

_Finally._

— — —

“Finally.” He’d been waiting  _forever_ for Asch the Bloody. Hell, he’d created two dozen mods in the time it’d taken Asch to return! If Asch didn’t have an Abyss system in his house, the teen laid out in his own was half tempted to just buy one and send it his way if only to alleviate the crushing boredom.

Sync lay back in his seat and felt the familiar embrace of the plush cushioning envelop him. His own visor, a custom design monstrosity that he had created, lowered down over the upper half of his face, and exuded a beak-like mask made of light over his eyes. He let them drift closed as his program booted up and before he knew it, he was immersed in his favorite game.

Of course, it wasn’t quite what the everyday user saw. His menus were top of the line customized, each trigger down to a hair’s breadth of delay, and he merely needed to think ‘click here’ and it was done. He let out a soft breath, practically smelling the damp grass and oncoming rain predicted in the rolling clouds above him. Abyss was so much more than a game; it was a form of freedom where others were so limited.

“Let’s see,” he murmured and scrolled through the participants. Asch the Bloody’s name was already spreading across message boards, demands requesting to learn more about him, but Sync had deleted the ones that got too invasive and did his own research. A student at the local university, a brother, perhaps a twin? He hadn’t been conclusive on that, and besides, too much delving would ruin the mystery.

There was something in him that burned to fight, to live, though. Sync recognized the look that had appeared when Asch was fighting for his virtual life. It was amazing how different people were when faced with demise. He wanted to see it again, even if only briefly, and Asch’s current opponents were a joke.

Sync scrolled through the numerous back doors he’d left and was rather impressed to see that half of them had been found. He almost wanted to congratulate the technician who had found them, even if it was ultimately pointless. With a deep breath, Sync reached out and slid his fingers along his controls, letting the familiar feeling of the game take over his body. A smile slipped onto his lips, his mask in place, ready to -

“Sync!”

He groaned, clenching his left hand and slamming it into the armrest. Maybe if he stayed quiet they would leave him alone.

“What are you doing down there? You have chores to do! Get your lazy ass up here!”

“I’m working on something!”

“You’re just playing that damn game again! Get up here!”

“I’m not missing this opportunity. The chores and everything else can wait.”

“Waste of space! Useless! Fine. If all you want to do is play games, you go right ahead. Just don’t think we’re going to take care of you on  _your_ schedule!”

They took care of him? Wasn’t that a laugh. He settled back into the chair and had to relocate Asch, but it didn’t take him long. His concentration wasn’t even broken for once; if only these stupid people claiming to be his caretakers would leave him alone, he could actually get some important work done. A hacker’s job was never over.

He worked himself into the line of combatants, changing up his avatar’s appearance with another work around, and watched Asch. It was clear all his opponents were outmatched. Did Asch play a lot of games like this? It was rare that the brain-to-action response time was so quick, or so easy to learn. Asch made it look effortless with every slash of his sword.

Sync laughed as each opponent fell beneath the onslaught and were forced to log out. When he was next, he made sure to adjust his stats to display his weak skill levels and watched as Asch’s face fell. Disappointment - so he  _was_  looking for a better enemy.

“You owe me a rematch, I think,” Sync called clearly across the battlefield. Asch froze, his eyes narrowing and hand clenching harder around his sword’s hilt. “After all, I was outnumbered last time.”

“Who are you?” Asch demanded, though Sync thought he was working it out for himself.

“Challenger Approaches!”

Sync triggered the announcer so he wouldn’t have to answer, and bowed with a flourish as the voice boomed, “The Tempest has accepted Asch the Bloody’s challenge!”

The crowd went silent again before the cheers and boos erupted. Sync waved to his adoring fans and haters equally, not really caring. They, after all, were not why he was here.

“The hacker from before, right? I was wondering if you’d show up again,” Asch said, taking a step forward and entering a battle stance. Really, this kid was amazing; if Asch adapted so well to the technology here, how would he do with some of Sync’s custom stuff?

“Actually I was waiting for you to return. You’re rather slow, apparently.”

Asch’s lips pursed and he gritted his teeth, but didn’t allow it to throw him off. Instead he rushed at Sync, and Sync dropped the covers he had placed over his avatar.

The same white coat, the same golden mask, the same greens and blacks that contrasted with Asch’s reds. He defended himself with the same martial arts he used before, but this time held off on the magic he could feel singing in his blood. His lips curled into a pleased smile as Asch fended off every attack, and Sync managed the same. They were on equal footing and it felt wonderful, unlike anything Sync could experience in the real world.

“You missed,” he chuckled breathlessly as he jabbed his fist into Asch’s gut and flipped away. Asch growled and rushed after him. Sync unleashed his artes, green lights flashing as distractions and attacks alike, and with a flick of his real thumb equipped his hidden weapons.

“Is that a new class?”

“Can’t be - Abyss only has the basic three.”

“He’s a hacker - “

“Maybe he’s a she!”

The chattering was getting annoying, but he wasn’t going to shutter the spectators out this time. Asch was going to build a reputation and Sync wanted to watch it grow. After all, it seemed he had finally found a worthy opponent.

“Ever wonder how this feels so real?” Sync asked conversationally. Asch slashed out with his sword in response, but Sync blocked and dove in closer for a handful of kicks. “Your brain is tricked into thinking it is real - the wiring’s all hooked up to you through that helmet, the gloves, and the chest piece. It’s why you sometimes think you’re hurt.” He smirked. “That slash you left me with last time was unpleasant, to say the least.”

“Do you always talk this much?” Asch snapped, panting.

“No, not normally. I thought you might be interested.” Sync sighed, his real body relaxing into his chair. “No matter. It’s about time I finished you off anyway.”

Asch had no time to prepare. Sync rushed forward, his entire body glowing green like some kind of demented firefly, and he shouted the key phrase to activate the attack: “Now you die! Akashic Torment!”

The crowd grew silent as a blinding light filled the stadium and made it impossible for them to see. They screamed, throwing their arms up in protest, but Sync only saw the shock on Asch’s face and the pain that filled his waking moments. He stumbled back and Asch fell to his knees, then face first to the ground.

In real life Sync heard the warning beeping of his machines alerting him that something was wrong, and he keyed a panel inside of his glove that shut it off. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath and his mind felt scrambled, unable to piece together what just happened. Another key led to a cold patch being stuck to the back of his neck, and he slowly relaxed. Once his vision cleared he found the announcer shouting his victory and the flashing fireworks above.

He’d slipped. He thought he had been careful with coding this one, but he clearly had messed up somewhere. At least he could fix it without much trouble once he was out. Sync turned his back on his fallen opponent and chuckled breathlessly to himself. How perfectly amusing.

“Wait,” Asch croaked, and Sync paused to glance over his shoulder. At least this form didn’t shake or show any weakness. If Asch saw what he really looked like - 

“What?”

“How did you do that?” Asch gasped. His avatar was crackling away like a sputtering fire.

“I’m special, remember?”

“But - “

“You can’t do it. Well… not yet, at least. If you’re interested, join me in the game again sometime.” Sync found himself warming to the idea immensely. “Yeah, find me in the main station. You’ll know me when you see me.”

“What’s the main - “

But Sync logged out, and disappeared from the playing field.

As soon as the mask was off, Sync threw up over the side of the chair into a nearby bucket. Sweat coated his skin in a light sheen, reflecting the light, and he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Still, today had been a great day, no matter what the physical effects. He started laughing quietly, letting his eyes close and embracing the pain as familiar as the fantasy.

_Finally_. Something worth his time. 


	3. Round 3

Asch was thoroughly, hopelessly lost. Every single entrance in the long hallway he now stood at the front of led to another hallway, and another, until he eventually wandered around so much that he forgot which way was up. He ground his fingertips into his forehead and let out a frustrated grunt. Supposedly, the ‘main station’ was just off of one of these halls, though he was beginning to wonder if that hacker had just been messing with him.

The message boards he’d scoured all pointed to the same place: a website called Eldrant, and a portal hyperlink found on a hidden page. It led to a series of screens asking roundabout personal questions, and a final sign up that had forced Asch to create a new email. He didn’t even know if where he was was technically legal or not. It was possible the place was a hangout for hackers or criminals and that he was just being led on some wild goose chase.

“Lost?” came a sweet voice that made him jump. Even with just his barebones basic headset at home, her voice made it sound like she was literally standing right next to him. He turned his avatar to face her and found a pretty, blond haired girl smiling up at him.

“Natalia?” he asked, shocked. What was she doing here?

“Asch,” she giggled and nudged his arm. “I am surprised to see you here, considering it’s not a well-known place on the net. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“A place called the ‘main station’ - but what are you - ?”

“Teenage rebellion,” she said with a smile. When he just stared at her, she shook her head. “I’m keeping an eye on things as a moderator. I help run the forums - Kimslasca Kingdom - that are hosted on here. Lately we’ve had a run of bugs and hackers that have been messing with the posting capabilities and user profiles.”

“You help run a gaming website.”

“Yes? Is that so shocking?”

“I didn’t even know you  _played_ games.”

“Well if you wanted to get together more often, you would know that I’m actually very well-versed in gaming. I even have some followers on UTube who watch my playthroughs.”

“Huh.”

Natalia sighed and motioned towards several doors to the right. “Anyway, if you’re looking for the main station, it’s through the second door on the right. Are you meeting someone there?”

“Something like that.”

“And I take it you’ve never been in there before.”

Asch tried not to show the cringe, but the headset seemed to translate it just fine on his avatar. Natalia couldn’t hide her chuckle.

“It’s a chat environment for local gamers, kind of like a coffee shop without the coffee. You can meet a lot of different types of people there and it’s free to use, so it’s really popular. Really easy to get lost in too.”

Great. Asch’s track record hadn’t exactly been stellar so far.

“Who are you meeting?” Natalia asked curiously.

“Just some guy I met in a game.” …It had sounded better in his head.

“I didn’t realize you played many games. Luke always seemed more interested.”

“It’s just a quick thing - no big deal.” Asch glanced at the doorway and wondered how he was going to find this Tempest guy. After all, if his avatar didn’t match the one in Abyss, Asch had little to go on.

Natalia shook her head. “Well, I won’t keep you if you’re busy. You should stop by sometime, though - we could study for finals together, like the old days.”

“We’ll see.” Asch shrugged and headed for the doorway. Behind him he heard Natalia sigh and the soft click of heels as she began to walk in the opposite direction. He found it a little… odd that she still wanted to hang out despite their mutual breakup a few months prior, but Natalia was a genuinely kind, warm person, so maybe it was just in her nature. He still considered her a friend anyway.

Asch pushed open the door and was immediately engulfed in chat boxes. They floated above people’s heads, some sporting other languages and others emojis that made him cringe. No one needed so many weird looking smiley faces in a single conversation. Looking around yielded nothing telling aside from the fact that the place was packed. Digital tables and chairs were set up all over the place with avatars lounging about. The environment was well designed but lacked a lot of the space Asch though it could use.

Ignoring the immediate few ‘hey man’s he received, he pushed his way through the crowds and kept an eye out for green hair. He spotted purples and pinks and wondered if they were how those people looked in real life, or if they had designed their avatars differently. Glancing down at himself he frowned at the plain clothing and designs offered by the program compared to what the others had. Maybe he should change up his look too.

It took a good few minutes to do a walk of the whole place, and by the time he made it back to the entrance he was more frustrated than in the hallways. The Tempest had told him to meet here, but they hadn’t exactly set a time or a day, and he had no idea if the kid or adult or whatever even frequented the place.

He walked up to what looked like a bar and immediately noticed the character behind. Blond hair, a winning smile, and a familiar shake of a shaker made him instantly recognizable.

“Guy?”

The blond nearly dropped the shaker. He stared at Asch, blinked, stared again, and finally let out a nervous laugh.

“Asch, you’re the last person I expected to see here,” he commented. He started pouring out drinks again with as steady a hand as he could and passed them on to the eager patrons.

“I keep getting that,” Asch said. “You work here?”

“Yeah, part time. I’m actually an admin of the space, believe it or not. Some of my friends were really into programming, came up with the idea, and asked me to help run it.” He smiled. “Guess the bar tending part was just an added bonus.”

“But you can’t actually drink anything.”

“Doesn’t matter - people still take it for their avatars. It adds to the realism, you know? They even have to pay for their drinks.”

“With real money?”

“Sometimes. It’s more often in-game credit. But if you’re rich, what do you care, you know? The most expensive drinks cost as much as a real bottle of alcohol.” Guy pointed to the sign over him that kept flashing in neon lights different coming attractions - a rave, live music, dancing - and settled on the drink list. He couldn’t believe the prices that he saw.

“That’s insane.”

“It works,” Guy shrugged. “People like making this their second life, you know? Actually you probably don’t know.” Guy chuckled. “This isn’t your normal hang out after all. Why are you here?”

It was getting very old, very fast for Asch to keep explaining. “I’m meeting someone.”

“I might be able to help you find them, if you want. This place is pretty busy right now.” Guy dropped his hand through the air and a menu popped up in front of his very eyes. “What’s the person’s username?”

“Uhh… Tempest?”

“Tempest? That’s unusual - most people need to have additional characters since the good names are all taken. Let’s see…”

Asch kept glancing around, still trying to keep his temper down with what he thought was Herculean effort, and only looked back when Guy let out a hum.

“I don’t see anyone by that name. Could he or she be using a different one?”

“I don’t know,” Asch groaned. It’d been a mistake in coming here, he was sure of it. Guy gave him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

“I can make you a drink on the house,” he offered.

“It’s fake,” Asch mumbled and shook his head. He turned away from the bar and started towards the door again. “Screw it - this was a waste of time.”

“I’ll see you later, then!” Guy called, and was immediately pulled back in by customers. Asch nearly stomped through the crowd and smirked at the startled reactions of some of the other patrons.

He glared all around him as if those other people were the cause of his anger, and stopped. Across the way, leaning against a wall, was a figure dressed mostly in blacks. It was hard to make out but Asch was certain the hair was green and spiked, hanging over the individual’s eyes. The other looked up at met his gaze, and smirked.

The little bastard.

Shoving his way through, Asch came to stand and tower over the shorter figure who had done nothing more than lean back.

“Hey,” the Tempest said casually. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”

“You’ve been standing here the whole time and, what, couldn’t yell or something?” Asch demanded. He stepped a little closer and the Tempest raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, that’s half the fun of the game,” he said and rolled his eyes. “Besides, I didn’t know for sure it was you until you got all pissed off and marched over here.” His smirk widened, showing teeth. “It fits what I’ve seen of you in Abyss.”

“I’m half tempted to strangle you,” Asch snarled.

“Just half?”

He balled his hands into fists at his side as the shorter young man stood up straight.

“Want to talk someplace quieter? It’s kind of noisy,” he suggested and completely ignored Asch’s intense glare. “You know if you keep looking me like that your face will freeze, right?”

“What the hell - “

“Look, I have other things to do, places to go, people to see, things to hack,” the Tempest sighed. “I took time out of my so busy schedule to come meet you. Continuing to be pissed isn’t going to work out for either of us.”

Asch punched the wall next to his head, and the Tempest’s smirk disappeared into a malicious grin.

“This is fun,” he chuckled. “Been a long time since I met someone who didn’t just run at the sight of me.”

“You aren’t someone I’d run from - a light breeze could knock you over.”

“I’m a hacker. People don’t mess with hackers.” He flicked his eyes up and down Asch as if sizing him up. “Then again you don’t strike me as having any idea what I do or who I am, which means you’re not as familiar with tech as I thought.” He blinked. “Wait a minute… that first time I saw you in Abyss, was that the first game you ever played?”

“Of course not. Don’t be an idiot,” Asch snapped.

“Oh good. If you’d beaten me after only trying that out, it’d be even more embarrassing. You did double-team me with your twin, though…”

Asch paused, confusion replacing fury. “How did you know I have a twin?”

“I did my homework, Asch fon Fabre.”

Was his life just an open book to be read online? Asch wasn’t even a part of the social media networks so many people he knew insisted he try. He had next to no imprint on the net, so where did this kid get his info?

“Ah, now you’re figuring it out,” the Tempest said as he watched Asch’s animated facial reactions. “This is the part where either you call the cops or we calmly sit down for a friendly chat.”

Asch didn’t immediately respond, but when the Tempest started walking, Asch followed. They entered a hidden side room that the Tempest shut the door to and Asch was surprised to see comfy couches placed around a coffee table, all pre-stocked with digital foods and drinks. He gingerly sat down on the couch, wary and angry that this hacker kid had managed to get information.

Then again, it was only his name, and that of his brother’s. He supposed it could have been worse; it didn’t look like the Tempest was waving around his social security number or bank account. He blinked and stared at the hacker who lounged easily on one of the seats, his legs thrown over the arm rest and head pillowed on his arm.

“How do you know my name?” Asch demanded.

“You were interesting, so I looked you up. I know what school you go to, who your friends are, what your classes are, your age, your family, your background - or rather, I would, if I wanted to know. You were too interesting of a mystery to do much research. It ruins the fun.”

“What makes me interesting? We played a game, I won once, you won once.”

“It was the  _way_ you played. You and your brother. Though, I’ve gotta say, you’re better with the controls than he is.” The Tempest turned his head and stretched out his legs. “Was that really your first time playing?”

“Abyss? Yeah. It just came out.”

“Oh right - I forgot it’s only been public for a little while.” Asch really wanted to punch that nasty grin off of that digital face. “Anyway, you were way more interesting than the other idiots who I watched play. You and your brother took it seriously, like it was an actual life or death fight. That’s how I play.”

The smile had turned treacherous, and Asch had little in the way of information. Violence probably wouldn’t work either. He hated this, hated being so out of his element. If this were real life, at least he’d have something visceral to work with, but for all he knew he was talking to an AI or some kind of nutcase. As it was all he had was the digital input of the software.

“You play a game as if you might actually die if you don’t win.”

“You felt what it was like to get hit, right? That pain was as real to me as anything else - the thrill, the adrenaline, the  _taste_  of the fight, all of it’s real if you treat it like that. And I saw you, saw it in your eyes - you wanted it to be real.” The Tempest tilted his head. “Real life is boring, pointless,  _annoying_ , right? There’s no challenge to anything anymore. But when you’re in the game, you’re faced with something that is so much more.”

“Real life is real life. You’re talking about living in a fantasy.” Asch rolled his eyes. Alright, so the kid was probably just a kid with too much of an imagination. He could work with that - hell, Luke was just like the hacker kid lazing about.

“I’m talking about living a life impossible anywhere else,” the Tempest corrected him, no nonsense in his voice. If anything, it had taken on a harder edge. “Are you really telling me you wouldn’t fight monsters and face evil if given the chance? Live out a life so different from your actual one?”

“It’s stupid,” Asch said bluntly. “It’s not real - it’s a game. There’s a thrill to it, but when you come down to it, it’s a bunch of code and art. It’s not real.”

“How do you know?” the Tempest scoffed. “Maybe real life is the game, and whenever we face monsters, it’s reality?”

“Are you really that delusional?” Asch asked. He stood up from his seat, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the talk. The Tempest merely watched him, the smile gone from his face to be replaced with a look of disgust.

“I should’ve known you’re just like everyone else,” he said.

“You should get help, kid,” Asch suggested without any heat. For some reason the conversation had exhausted him, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache. “It’s not normal to think games are real.”

“And you know so much about normalcy,” the Tempest responded, his voice lower and tone darker. “Spending your days studying away, wasting your life on a pointless degree that won’t make you any happier or more fulfilled.” He let out a short bark of a laugh. “Struggling to find a reason to keep going with it all - with more and more school work that will just lead to a boring job with boring people. You know I’m right - you just won’t admit it to yourself.”

Asch turned his back on the Tempest and headed for the door. This brat didn’t know anything about him. His work  _was_ fulfilling, his degree  _would_ get him a bright future and a bright career and everything he was working so hard for, and there was no way he would let a stupid kid tell him differently.

“Thanks for wasting my time,” the Tempest called as Asch slammed the door behind him and stalked towards the entrance, feeling more and more like he had missed something in the conversation and angry that someone he barely knew managed to get under his skin.


	4. Is This Just Real Life?

He couldn’t bring himself to move. Certainly he was capable of it physically, but all he wanted to do was lay here with his eyes trained on the ceiling and breathe. The emptiness in his chest was threatening to overwhelm him again. Here he had believed he had found a kindred spirit, someone who understood why he lived the way he did, and it had been shut down in his face. The other thought he was a little kid with delusions of fantasy.

And was that a wrong way to look at it? To anyone else, it probably seemed like he was avoiding living his life. Hacking was hardly a career in the normal sense. What he did though made him  _feel_ alive in a way he couldn’t explain in words. He had seen it in Asch’s eyes - the immediate jolt of light that had appeared when faced with such odds - and it reflected in his own dim recognition of himself.

Sync wanted to feel like that in real life. He just didn’t think he was capable of it.

He slowly started undoing the wires a little at a time from his body, removing the armor pieces identical to the ones the arcade used and carefully placing them in their respective trays. The visor was the last to go, suspended from the ceiling and soon retreating to its safe spot as ordered. Sync lay there for a little longer, listening to the sounds of his own slightly rushed breathing, and closed his eyes.

“Sync! Get up here!” His teeth ground together at the order. They didn’t understand. No one did.

He sat up straight and carefully began maneuvering his legs to the side of the bed. He tucked his fingers under his knees and shifted until he had them swinging over the side. A quick tug of his wheelchair brought it to his side. Taking a deep breath, Sync lifted himself up, his arms straining with the weight of the rest of his body, and deposited himself in the chair.

He adjusted his legs in their holders and soon was wheeling up the ramp that led upstairs to the rest of the house. The second he left through the door the smell of cooking pasta and fresh meatballs hit him, and his stomach let out an angry growl at not being fed recently. Even if his least favorite people were up here, at least the food would be good.

“Look what finally emerged from the cave,” sneered a voice that belonged to his oldest brother. Sync was halfway convinced that they weren’t actually related, but Anion always held it over him, a leash to pull him back when he strayed.

“Anion, back off,” Sync snapped and wheeled himself towards the kitchen. He heard the lazy footsteps of his brother behind him, following.

“What, did you screw up? Are the cops finally coming for you?”

“No, you’d like that too much.”

A sigh, then, “So true. One less idiot to deal with.”

Sync glared over his shoulder at Anion. “Unlike you, I cover my tracks.”

Anion’s smirk widened. “Why would I bother when there’s other people to deal with it?  _Unlike you_ , I’m irreplaceable.”

That stung more than Sync wanted to admit. He knew his purpose, and the limitations he could not overcome in this world. His hand clenched in his lap, the only outward sign that Anion had gotten under his skin, and he quickly began wheeling himself towards the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“You can’t walk.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“I should come with you. Never know what kind of unsavory folks are out there.”

“Screw off, Anion.”

“Is that any way to treat your dearest brother?”

Sync whirled in the chair - a feat, considering - and he stared down Anion. The older boy brushed his hair back out of his handsome face, a face Sync practically emulated, and walked over until he could grab the handles of Sync’s wheelchair. Sync jerked the chair forward, out of Anion’s hands, and doubled his pace.

“Mom and dad would want us to get along,” Anion sang, putting the falsest sadness in his voice that he could muster.

“They’re dead - and the idiots here aren’t my parents,” Sync snapped back, but he kept going. Freedom was just ahead of him, if only for a few minutes. A sudden jerk to the back of his chair had him scrambling to stop himself from falling.

“Where are you going?” The voice belonged to a man standing nearby with one meaty hand locked on the back of Sync’s chair and the other on his hip. “Can’t you smell dinner?”

The tone was so condescending - it made Sync’s blood boil. He wanted to punch that smug looking bastard’s face if for no other reason than to work out some of the tension in his body. As it was, the bigger man could toss him around - and had - as much as he wanted. There was no where else Sync could go, no one he could turn to, and his brother cared only about how long he had left.

After all, once Sync lost his usefulness to Anion, what was the point of living anymore?

“Answer me, you brat.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Thanks so much, Uncle Mohs, dinner smells great!’?” Sync continued to glare at him, hands clenched on the armrests of his seat. Mohs sneered down at him in a way that reminded Sync of Anion and steered Sync back towards the kitchen.

“You’re an ungrateful little wretch, you know that?”

“I didn’t even know you knew that word. Good for you.”

It earned him a cuff against the back of his head, but he didn’t care. Sync felt his heart thud loudly and almost wished the damn thing would just stop. It would make things so much easier - the choice of continuing in this hellhole would be out of his hands. Anion wouldn’t have a scapegoat anymore. It sounded almost ideal.

Others, others living in the same house, came to join them at the kitchen table and momentarily dragged Sync from his thoughts. The house was a halfway home of sorts, after all, and so many people came and went with stories and tragedies and heartbreak of their own. They were one of the only sources of comfort Sync had in the place, and despite himself he looked up to see how many would join in for the evening meal.

A lion of a man sat at the far end of the long, scarred table, dark hair streaked with gray and body looking uncomfortable in the rather small space. Next to him sat a woman in a shawl, her blond hair tied up in a ponytail and her eyes looking so tired. Across from her a man was busy twitching and writing things in a notebook; he couldn’t sit still for more than a moment, and his cologne reeked of roses. He found the bigger man observing him with half veiled curiosity and almost begged one of them to take him with them - 

But knew that wasn’t his place. He belonged downstairs in his machines and among his only friends, amass in wires and electronics, mind far afield in the depths of the net. Even now, sitting at this table with a false sense of belonging, made him realize just how much he should not actually be there.

He stared down at his plate, his appetite completely gone, and just listened to the conversations that naturally arose between temporary companions. Where they were going, what they were doing, all behind masks that spoke of deception and secrecy. He poked at the food on his plate with his fork, picking up names - Largo, Legretta, Saphir - and jobs - construction, business, medicine - and wondered how so many people could find such fulfillment in their lives.  _They_ didn’t rely on a game to give them the jolt of life Sync so desperately sought out.

“Eat,” came the clipped order from Mohs, and Sync wrapped up the spaghetti on his fork.

It never reached his mouth.

His hand seized, releasing the fork and letting it clatter back onto the plate. He gripped his shirt, his body bent forward and mind on fire. Not now, not now of all times - he had thought he had it under control! Voices that he didn’t know filtered in through the panic that spread and he violently shuddered in the chair, his breaths coming in short, stuttered pants.

Someone forced a pill into his mouth, and after it, a glass of water that he sputtered more than half of back up. He choked on it, the cloying feeling of the medicine spreading so quickly that it in and of itself was a shock to his system. In seconds he was limp in his chair, a prisoner in his own body, and beside him he heard Anion snort with derision.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t really know where he was, not at first. It wasn’t until he heard the comforting beeping of nearby machines that he recognized the basement, his cave as Anion called it, and he breathed. He shuttered his eyes and scratched at his arms, anything to feel something physical, and sunk deeper into the mire, alone and afraid.

_I don’t want to die_.

A phrase he’d heard from the lips of his youngest brother. A phrase he’d heard from an older sibling that at one time had not hated him. A phrase that was as common as breathing and thinking.

_I don’t want to die._

Escape. He jerkily pulled everything on - gloves, chest piece, and finally visor - and felt the wet trickle of tears down his cheeks as his body did its best to function and his mind tried to catch up. Here, he was invincible. Here, he could live.

So when he dove into the machines, and let his mind drift far from is broken down body, he did not look back.


	5. Losing Himself, Finding Himself

Boredom was a terrifying thing. There was always homework or job hunting or seeing friends, but Asch was better at the stay-at-home-and-rage-at-everything state than actually going out and doing things. He’d denied the last three invites to be with friends and, even now, walking around the school, he felt the familiar rage of  _I don’t want to be here_  building up in the back of his throat.

“You look like you swallowed an entire lemon,” his biology teacher informed him with a smirk.

Asch merely glared and kept his distance. Professor Gneiss was the oddest teacher Asch had which was saying something considering his history teacher was convinced that the world’s future was set in stone and learning the past to change said future was pointless. Professor Grants, at least, had a commanding presence that Asch could respect. Gneiss was pitiful in comparison.

“Hey, prof,” called one of the other kids in his class, “what’s on the final?”

“Everything you’ve studied up to this point,” Gneiss said smugly. The entire class groaned.

“An accumulative final?! Bullshit!”

“Come on, man, really? The arcade just upgraded that new game I’ve been wanting to try.”

Asch’s head lifted at the final comment and he scowled down at his page of notes - haphazard and messy - in front of him. The arcade was full of games, games Asch didn’t care about, not even Abyss. He hadn’t played Abyss since seeing Sync in the underground bar (is that what it was called on the net?) but the itch was still there, just under his skin.

As Gneiss began going over cell reproduction in the human body, and the classroom returned to its usual whispered cacophony, Asch finally admitted to himself that he missed the game. He certainly didn’t miss the annoying hacker who had decided to make Asch his pet project. Still… he wouldn’t mind playing again against anyone.

– – – – –

“That was the longest chem lab I’ve ever had,” Luke groaned from the back seat. Asch drove along, nearly breaking several speed limits and laws with each step on the pedal. Behind his own chair, he heard Guy chuckle and the rustle of fabric as Guy patted Luke’s shoulder.

“At least Tritheim gave us the notes we need to study for the test,” Guy reasoned. “Better than us having to dig through everything. Or find your actual notes in the doodles you’ve been doing.”

“Hey! Those are important notes too!”

Asch ignored them and turned towards the arcade’s parking lot. When he pulled into a spot and killed the engine, he heard the  _whoop!_ of excitement from Luke.

“Is today a special treat or something?” Luke tilted his head back and screwed up his face into a thoughtful expression. “Or our birthday? Did I miss something?”

“I just wanted to check this place out. There’s nothing special about it,” Asch growled and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Luke and Guy scrambled out too and dashed for the front door, leaving Asch to close up the car and lock it. He stared at the innocuous building, filled with high schoolers and grade schoolers and the college kids who either didn’t care if they were seen or thought it looked cool to hang out in the only arcade in town.

Asch finally walked inside and glared at the smirking Jade behind the counter. He was beginning to suspect the bespectacled man just lived here. Jade passed Asch the equipment for Abyss with only a widening grin and Asch took off deeper into the arcade. He blinked when he found a small sign on the side of the machine.

_Hackers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. This game is owned by Namdai, Inc. All programming, equipment, and game design is © Namdai, Inc. All rights reserved._

Beneath it was a clear addition.

_Ash the Bludy wuz hear._

Really? Someone was claiming to be him? Admittedly it’d been around a month since he’d last been here, but still - they knew his face, right? His reputation? There was no way he would let someone else steal that from him.

He pounded his fist on the side of the machine, ignoring the kids who jumped near him. Why did he care? It was a  _game_ , something that should mean absolutely nothing to him, yet his pride wouldn’t allow someone else to just steal his prowess from him. With his teeth grit, he slipped into the machine and booted everything up.

Experienced as he was now, he flicked through the menus from memory and logged in with the name - Asch the Bloody - that had somehow gotten famous over the last month or so. Message board posts flicked up on the right side of the screen - a new feature, if he wasn’t mistaken - and showed about half of them were in some way or another a reference to a user known as ‘Asch the Bloody’. Asch frowned at the terrible score of whoever was playing as him and vowed to fix it.

“Asch the Bloody will now take on all challengers!”

Asch grinned behind the visor - all teeth and violence - and set about finding the arena where the supposed lookalike was fighting. What he found made even him raise his eyebrows.

The player was talented, he’d give him that, but it was mostly through delay tactics and running around. Asch himself was far more straightforward, choosing to face his enemy head on rather than allow anyone a chance at striking first. He ground his teeth at the idiocy the other displayed and hurriedly pushed ahead in the line, ignoring the protests of the other players. A hush descended over them as they realized who it was standing in front of them. There was a rush of dialogue that Asch tuned out until he heard, “Challenger approaches!”

He stepped onto the digital turf and faced off against the fake Asch the Bloody. The other had managed to recreate parts of Asch’s avatar, but it was missing the right color of hair, the exact eyes.

“Which one’s the real one?”

“I can’t see - are they gonna fight?”

“I call winner!”

“Bets, bets, who wants to bet?”

“Who are you?” the fake demanded and with a flourish slashed his sword through the air in front of him. Asch laughed, feeling more and more at ease the longer he was in the system. Alright, he’d admit it - he missed this feeling.

“I’m the real Asch the Bloody,” he claimed. From his scabbard at his side he drew out his sword - and realized the weapon wasn’t the same one he’d fought with before. This was far more menacing, thick, a true weapon compared to the old. A design was laid out into the metal in a dull gold, the edge honed to a perfect sharpness. And, in the center of the guard, Asch found what had to have been a sticky note (he had no idea such a thing existed in the game) and pulled it off.

_Thanks for the battle._

There was no signature, but Asch was certain who the blade had come from. He was surprised after their last meeting had gone that the Tempest had not just removed the weapon from his avatar’s possession, but now he was almost grateful for it. The blade had a better grip than his last and when he brought it to his side, his back straightened and his head was held that much higher.

This guy didn’t stand a chance.

“What a crock,” the fake said and smirked. “I’m - ”

“A thief. You’re using my reputation to try and build up your own.” Asch rotated the blade in a simple flick, and the audience around them stopped even their minor chitchat. “We’ll settle this here, and when I win, you’ll use a different name, got it?”

“Hah, when  _you_ win?” The fake pandered to the crowd, raising his hands up and getting them to chant  _Asch, Asch, Asch!_ which only served to warm Asch’s blood. This person was going to regret using his name.

“Combatants prepare.”

A countdown appeared in the top right of Asch’s visor - 30, 29, 28 - and he quickly checked his avatar’s equipment and clothing. The blade’s stats were much higher than the last weapon Asch had carried, and he noticed a new set of artes associated with the weapon.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Begin.”

Asch ran forward, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. He slashed out at the impostor faster than the other could respond, earning him cheers and more than a few boos from the crowd and the loss of mobility in the fake’s right arm. The fake look stunned, his eyes comically bulging in his head, but he quickly recovered and attacked with a too wide swing.

They dueled, sword against sword, fist to chin and foot to chest, back and forth, but Asch was convinced he would win, regardless. He swung again, severing his opponent’s arm and watching as he screamed. The visceral blood spatter made Asch’s chest clench, and he thought he might actually be sick at the visual. There was nothing being held back in this game.

“Bastard!” screamed the fake and glowing light engulfed his blade.

Asch clenched his hand and quickly pulled up the artes menu. Admittedly he hadn’t used any of these before, but the command prompt was fairly easy to input. His fingers flew across the controls in his glove, and before he knew it, his body was being launched forward, his sword sailing through the air, with a cry of “Raging Blast!” that ended with his opponent flying backwards through the air and landing in a loud  _thump_.

The crowd went crazy, shouting and chanting his name, and Asch raised his bloodied sword to the skies, a huge smile on his face. Was this what the Tempest had meant when he said he felt alive in the confines of this fantasy? Asch’s chest clenched at the thought, but he was too high on the win to care. No one would claim to be him again, of that he was certain.

“ _Asch, Asch, Asch, Asch!”_

“Congratulations to Asch the Bloody!” the announcer shouted, and the chanting just grew louder.

In his physical seat, arms throbbing with felt blows and breaths see sawing in and out of his chest, Asch grinned up at the darkness of the visor and laughed. He didn’t care who heard him or saw. Right now, the moment was his - the  _victory_ was his.


End file.
